


How You Get The Girl

by DoreyG



Category: DCU, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Community: trope_bingo, Crushes, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Infusion Fetish, Male-Female Friendship, Second Chances, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Unhygienic Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Mercy Graves opens a coffee shop, becomes best friends with a superhero, gets the girl and has a totally awesome life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Get The Girl

Lois storms in at half past nine on the first day that she’s open. Hair snapping behind her like some grand cape, eyes blazing like she wants to set fire to something. She slams her hands down on the counter, leans forward very slowly and hisses, “what are you _doing_?”

Her only response is to blink a little, give a friendly smile and offer up the cup she’s holding like a peace offering between them, “opening a coffee shop. Caramel Latte?”

“That can’t be right,” Lois rages, not moving an inch – this close she looks much like an Amazon, gorgeous and dangerous and filled with raving bloodlust that could level an entire city, “you’re evil, you worked for Luthor, you’re _evil_. What are you _actually_ planning? What nefarious scheme have you cooked up _this_ time?”

She, in respect of this, considers for a second. A very long second, a very long second until the coffee machine judders to a halt behind her.

“I’m hoping to open up a bakery in a few years,” she says cheerfully, and watches the sudden bulge of Lois’ eyes with something exactly like pleasure, “and then, if I’m really lucky, a café soon after that. Caramel latte to go?”

 

\--

 

It’s not like she ever _dreamed_ of opening up a bakery.

It’s not like she ever laid awake at night, in the apartment that Luthor gifted her when she started working for him, and thought – _one day I’m going to quit this glamorous life of being a bodyguard to the wealthiest man on the planet to open up a small coffee shop on an obscure street in Metropolis and make drinks all day. Yes, that is a very sensible life plan. Top marks to Mercy! Go me!_

…But then Luthor had gone to jail.

And she’d been passing an abandoned building one day, small and old looking and entirely untouched by Luthor’s hand, and had paused and smiled and thought _why not?_

 

\--

 

The next time that Lois storms into the shop she brings along a gawky, beglassed nerd who stumbles after the tap of her heels with that certain kind of gracelessness that tends to only accompany slack jawed idiots and the completely gormless.

She stares at them both, for just a second, and then smirks. Lowers her eyes to the till until she can control herself properly, “can I help you?”

Lois slams her hands on the counter, again. She’d be more annoyed by that, she just _cleaned_ , but she’s still too busy masking her amusement at the militia that’s been brought to see her, “we’re onto you, Graves!”

“Onto my low prices?” She asks politely, and hides another smirk at the open _rage_ that flashes across Lois’ pretty face, “or onto the fact that I serve the best coffee in town?”

“Onto your evil schemes!” Lois practically _snarls_ , and points a finger right in her face – or, at least, tries to point a finger right in her face because the height difference is pronounced even _with_ Lois’ absurd heels, “we’re _watching_ you. And don’t think that you’re going to get away with it forever!”

…After her proclamation, and melodramatic departure with a swish of hair, her companion edges up to the counter. He clears his throat awkwardly, waits until she levels an amused glance at him before he ever so politely continues, “the best coffee in town? That’s a pretty big boast, Ms Graves.”

“But an accurate one,” she smiles, and bends cheerfully down to her till again, “we also serve a selection of teas, infusions and other hot drinks. Pop in some time, I’ll see what I can do.”

 

\--

 

The thing is that she never really had a _choice_ before.

She didn’t choose for her father to leave them, before she was out of the womb. She didn’t choose for her mother to die, when she’d just mastered the art of walking. She didn’t choose to spend years on the street, stealing to survive. She didn’t choose to be picked up by Lex, who was looking for a bodyguard with no wriggle room in any way. And she didn’t even choose to stay with Lex so long, losing more and more of herself with every passing day.

Standing here, in her recently rented building with her coffee shop coming to life around her, she finally has a _choice_.

…It feels nicer than she ever thought it would.

 

\--

 

Clark – because that’s apparently his name: Clark Kent, Kansas farmboy extraordinaire – edges back into her shop about two days later, wearing a sheepish smile that somehow manages to be endearing despite all his bulk.

“Lois doesn’t know that I’m here,” he confesses, as she pours him an infusion – blood orange and cranberry, one of her favourites – and nods with politely feigned interest, “I thought that was for the best. You know how she gets… Well, you probably don’t. But she most definitely _gets_.”

“Perhaps I know more than you think,” she murmurs, still polite, and watches him sniff the tea with at first suspicion, and then surprised pleasure, “that’ll be $1.50, please.”

Clark gives her a confused smile – it’s pleasing, it’s been _so long_ since she’s been allowed to be properly enigmatic – but delays questioning her in favour of taking his first sip. When he lowers the cup, slack jawed and glassy eyed, it’s clear to see that all questions have fallen by the wayside, “oh my _god_.”

She chuckles, turns to serve another impressed looking customer.

 

\--

 

It’s not that she has any regrets – or, to be honest, many regrets because there are certain things and people that she did under Luthor’s power that she’s less than proud of – about her life up to this point. She survived, after all. She even _thrived_. She was the street kid made good, the shining example of turning her life around, the whispered legend of thieves and villains everywhere. She was legit, she was going somewhere, she was even… _Happy_ , at times.

It’s just-

…It’s just that she didn’t know how good it could actually _be_ , as she watches her first customers trickle in with curious eyes.

 

\--

Lois storms in again at nine thirty in the morning on the Monday of her second week in business. Hands clenched into fists, eyes burning so brightly that she could probably use them to heat up the coffee if she tried hard enough, “stop seducing my colleagues!”

Clark, who’d popped in just before Lois arrived for his usual infusion, sinks back into a corner with an amusingly pale face. She only sighs, serves one of her actual customers as politely as she can, “I haven’t seduced any of your colleagues, Lois. That would be entirely against established business practice.”

“How am I supposed to trust that,” Lois ignores this very good point, in favour of glowering at her with an intensity that has – frequently – had lesser folk weeping into their hands in hopeless terror, “when you’re evil?”

“I’m not evil, Lois,” she points out, rests her hands on the till again – it’s becoming a comfort to her, an anchor in this wonderful world where Lois storms into her coffee shop every two seconds to yell at her about complete evil and other such moral quandaries, “I just serve coffee.”

“And how am I supposed to trust that,” Lois asks, tone of triumph somewhat marred by the mad look in her eye, “when you _seduce my colleagues_?”

There’s really no reasoning with the woman.

 

\--

 

Perhaps the thing she regrets most, about her time with Lex, is Lois.

Not Lois herself, because she feels a lot of things towards Lois but _regret_ is certainly not one of them, but perhaps what she had to do. What she was forced to do, really. Because maybe her and Lois, very briefly, had a thing. And maybe Lex didn’t like that thing. And maybe Lex told her to end that thing, or else. And maybe she didn’t protest that, at all.

It wasn’t serious, anyway.

She still finds herself looking around her very own coffee shop, newly done up, and thinking that it’d be different now. If. _If_.

 

\--

 

On the anniversary of her first month, her monthiversary if you will, Bruce Wayne walks into her coffee shop and orders an espresso.

“I’m here from Gotham on business,” he offers, as she takes his order in complete silence, “to oversee the proper distribution of Luthor’s holdings, make sure that they don’t fall into unsavoury hands.”

“I heard you’d opened a coffee shop,” he continues, as she silently makes his coffee – not even bothering to look at his bland face, the familiar curve of his muscular jaw, “an odd choice, but a good one. I only wish that the villains in Gotham had your skill for reform. Granted, none of them should open a coffee shop – but the general principle of the wish remains the same.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, voice momentarily rougher as he takes a deep sip from the cup she’s handed him – eyes going wide, fingers clenching hard around the enamel “…If only the villains in Gotham had the same skill for making coffee as you do. The world would be a far, _far_ better place.”

“$1, please,” she says indifferently, and allows herself the very smallest of smirks.

 

\--

 

Lex didn’t respect her, she knew that even in her most loyal phases. At best, she was a loyal guard dog to him. At worst, a foolish hanger on who was there to be manipulated and nothing more. And it’s not like some of her customers are that much better, retail is hell and she knows that very well, but…

Well. They are that much better, and she no longer feels like justifying that to anybody. Least of all _Lex_

 

\--

 

“Stop seducing my exs!” Lois rages the next morning, at her normal time. She isn’t a morning person, that’s one of the first things you learn if you’re in her presence for any extended period of time, but obviously she’s made a special effort here – stayed up all night, taken drugs, injected coffee straight into her veins.

She sighs, gestures her next eager customer forwards. She’d mind more, but she’s starting to become far too busy for that, “I’m still not sure what you think acceptable business practice is, Lois-“

“Not what you follow,” Lois sneers, with a certain amount of pride flashing in her eyes at that ever so _clever_ interruption.

“-But that’s not it,” she finishes calmly. And gestures forward yet another customer, eagerly waiting in the queue like she’s some prophet dispensing wisdom through hot drinks and flat demands for money, “honestly. I’m not sure _why_ you believe that I’m trying to seduce everybody, but it’s starting to become rather tiring.”

“Tiring, sure,” Lois sniffs, and turns on her heel yet again – marches out of the shop, leaving a trail of righteous indignation and battered customers in her wake, “it’s not like that’s what you _do_ , or anything.”

 

\--

 

Okay, so, maybe the thing with Lois was a little more serious than she likes to admit. Maybe it wasn’t just a quick fling. Maybe it meant a little more to both of them. _Maybe_ she wasn’t actually the best at admitting that, even when it was going on. And _maybe_ … Maybe she actually _hurt_ Lois, when she followed Lex’s orders like the lapdog she was and broke things off without a backwards glance.

And maybe she spends more evenings than she should sitting in her shop, wondering how many things could’ve been different. But she doesn’t have to admit that either.

 

\--

 

“I really am sorry about her,” Clark says, the next time he visits – she sees him at least once a day, often more. He seems to be addicted to her infusions, and she knows that she shouldn’t feel so smug about that _but_ … “I’m not sure why she keeps _doing_ this.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she offers indifferently, slowly polishing a mug without much interest, “either of you.”

“But I really _don’t_ ,” Clark ignores her, keeps insisting. At moments like this he forgets the farmboy act – draws himself up, makes himself look _strident_ in a way that very few men can actually pull off, “if she actually hated you she’d destroy you, if you actually annoyed her she’d pen an acid column about you and move on with her life, if she was indifferent to you she’d forget that you _existed_.”

“Confusing,” she nods, indifferent again, and continues polishing her mug.

“It’s almost as if…” Clark screws up his face briefly, laughs a little, shakes his head. He’s trying to appear carefree and innocent – even though, to her experienced eyes, he’s currently anything but, “almost as if she has a _crush_ on you, or something. As if she’s pulling your pigtails, to get a reaction.”

“Huh,” she purses her lips, indifferent to the last- drops the mug right onto the tiled floor. Which is probably for the best, really, because it was already starting to crack and those type of shards would be a _bitch_ to get out from underneath her fingernails.

When she stands up again, from cleaning up the broken pieces on the floor, Clark’s eyes have narrowed and his cheeks have gone slightly pale. He doesn’t look confused, though, which is the most disturbing thing. He just looks… Thoughtful.

 

\--

 

She’s never cared this much before.

She doesn’t really know what to say, beyond that. She’s never cared this much before, and it seems likely that she won’t care this much again. It doesn’t mean that it has to interfere with her life, though. It doesn’t mean that she actually has to _long_ for anything.

It certainly doesn’t mean that she’s in denial - as she watches the customers trickle slowly into her shop and puts a small smile on, just for them.

 

\--

 

The next time that Lois storms in, regular as ever, she’s so rushed off her feet that she barely has time to notice. She’s too busy running everywhere, dispensing about fifty orders at once as her customers clamour for more. _More_. It seems like Bruce Wayne’s visit has had a belated effect, _suddenly_ her little coffee shop seems the most popular place in the city.

“I don’t have the _time_ right now,” she interrupts hurriedly, as Lois opens her mouth and prepares to let rip in that way that only Lois can, “could you yell at me later, perhaps? When I’m dead, if that’s possible?”

Lois stares for a long second, and then very slowly closes her mouth. Her expression goes mulish, her eyes go narrow. She watches her darting back and forth with a certain glint in her eye that just _screams_ of danger.

“Maybe you should hire employees,” she suggests eventually, as the flow of customers finally eases and she’s allowed a moment to slump back against the counter and _pant_ , “to help you, with the shop. You’d have more people to seduce and torture then, after all, and isn’t that all that you really want?”

“Haven’t you heard?” She grunts stubbornly, being Lex’s bodyguard had _nothing_ on this, and lifts her head to look Lois right in the eye – suddenly, pretty much out of nowhere, Clark’s words are in her head and she’s finding it kind of hard to breathe “…I don’t do that anymore. I’ve changed.”

Lois openly _stares_ at her for a second – uncertain, mouth dropping open a little in that cute way that it always does when she’s been surprised.

“…Yeah, _right_ ,” and turns and marches away unsteadily, with not a single glance back.

 

\--

 

Caring is silly, after all, caring is _stupid_. Caring is messy, and ugly, and just gets people hurt. Who has the need for it? Certainly not her. Certainly not _ever_ , not even once, _her_.

…Except she used to think that about changing too. That the thought of anybody actually being able to change was silly, was stupid. That it was messy, and pointless, and only believed in by fools who didn’t know any better. That there was no need for it. That she’d be bad to the bone forever – and, if not happy with it, at least _content_.

The customers keep coming, her shop keeps attracting rave reviews. She starts the coffee brewing, early in the morning, and gets on with her life.

 

\--

 

Her first applicant is blonde and perky, the stereotypical perfect waitress. She talks in a broad accent, pops gum seemingly every five seconds and smiles _constantly_. She knows, deep down, that the woman would be a _hit_.

“No,” she says, five seconds into the interview.

“What?!” Harley pouts at her, then gives the best case of puppy dog eyes that she’s ever seen. The effect together, she must admit, is something that can best be described as adorably disturbing, “I’ve got qualifications, I’m good with _people_. What more do you want?”

She arches a very professional eyebrow, points to the sign that she’s put in the window. The sign that says, very deliberately, _no supervillains allowed_. It’s a nice touch, she thinks – Lois’ eyes bulged a little when she saw it, and she did that funny thing with her mouth that meant she was hiding a smirk. Clark, who saw it just after her, burst out laughing. It is, she thinks, some of her best work.

“That’s discrimination!” Harley cries, throws up her hands in the air and pouts so hard that her lower lip actually looks at risk of detaching from her face, “that’s _unfair_ , you-!”

“No,” she repeats sunnily, and allows herself a very small smile. The world, yet again, is starting to look up.

 

\--

 

She never was a supervillain. She’s probably supposed to feel some sense of inadequacy at that, but she’s never been in the habit of feeling terrible about the truth. She was bad, yes, often an actively horrible human being – but she was never a supervillain. She didn’t have the style, the ambition, the lack of sanity that invited dressing up in silly costumes. She was a lackey, at _best_.

Likewise, she knows that she’s never going to go in the other direction. She’s never going to be a superhero – and again, inadequacy, but again, _truth_. She’s an alright person, sure, but not actually a good one – and not even _close_ to a great one. She doesn’t have the interest in people, the obnoxious do-gooding gene, the desire to dress up in even _sillier_ costumes. She’s a disinterested bystander, at her very best stretch.

…She’s her.

And she’s starting to realize that she’s entirely alright with that. As she keeps turning supervillains away, and keeps ignoring heroes, and keeps living her life exactly as she wishes.

 

\--

 

When Lois, as per usual, marches through the door again she’s greeted by Steph. Bright-eyed, and blonde, and bouncing, and apparently from Gotham but here for the semester because why the hell not?

“Uh,” Lois says, as a coffee cup is forced into her hand and her eyes go so wide that they seem at active risk of falling out of her skull, “you’re not Mercy’s type.”

“I’m flattered, that you know my type so well,” she comments sarcastically, from behind the counter where she’s taking a break – she’s actually allowed to take _breaks_ now, she’s not sure that she’s ever actually taken a break _in her life_ , “but annoyed, because you _still_ haven’t listened to my points about appropriate business practice.”

“You don’t follow appropriate business practice, and we both _know_ it,” Lois sniffs, then frowns, then bends closer to her cup and takes another sniff – when she leans up again, her eyes are narrow with suspicion, “what the hell is this, Graves?”

“Caramel latte,” she says cheerfully, putting on her very brightest smile. Conner, next to her, looks slightly creeped out by this – he’s a smart kid, even if he does currently appear to be indulging in his jock phase with an amount of passion that can be described as ill-advised at best, “I made it myself. Didn’t want to skimp for _you_ , after all.”

There’s a long pause. When she looks at Lois properly again, as opposed to just aiming a beam in her general direction, the other woman looks somewhat… Lost. Confused, in a way that she’s never seen the great Lois Lane indulge in before, “that’s my favourite.”

“I remember,” she says, before she can stop herself – and then covers a wince, and carries on. Lex isn’t here, slipping up is no longer the cardinal sin that it used to be, “just poke Steph, if you want a refill. I’m going for lunch in five, so won’t be able to indulge you customary melodramatics as I usually do.”

“Why would I want a refill?” Lois growls, ill-tempered yet again, and lifts the cup to her lips like she’s trying to prove a point, “it’s probably going to be shit anyway. And I’m not _being_ melodramatic, I’m just being-“

 _Pornographic_ , apparently. As the noise that tumbles out of her mouth after her first sip is enough to get the entire shop staring, Steph’s jaw dropping open and Conner looking almost _amused_.

She hides her blush, purely out of habit. Offers up a sunny smirk instead.

 

\--

 

She’s never been in love.

Not before, not after, not ever. Love, as a child, was an openly foolish proposition. Love, with Lex, was both complex and even more foolish. Love, afterwards, was a foolish irrelevance that would take up far too much of her time. She has a coffee shop to run, after all, a whole life to build. She didn’t have interest in anything as plebeian as _love_.

…But Lois is the only person who’s ever made her blush. And that, perhaps, means something. Meant something, long ago.

 

\--

 

Lois, from that point onwards, becomes an even more frequent visitor to her coffee shop. Bursting through the door in the morning, yelling about corruption. Sneaking in at lunch, for her usual caramel latte. Even there just after she finishes work, watching her with confused eyes and a closed-off expression.

She’d be lying, if she said that she minded at all.

“I’m starting to think that my initial assessment was correct,” Clark says teasingly, one day when Lois has had to rush off to cover a crisis – Superman has saved a busload of children, again. Clark, himself, seems remarkably blasé about this news, “you really should just ask her out, you know, she’d probably say yes.”

She spends a long moment polishing a mug, one that she’s already polished several times before now, before she answers. Before she can summon up a smirk, more accurately, but who’s asking? “Are you sure that you wouldn’t mind?”

“Why-“ Clark chokes for a second, on his mango and strawberry infusion, carries on in the least smooth way possible. Honestly, she’s starting to think that certain parts of his awkwardness _aren’t_ just an act for his loyal spectators, “why would I mind? Lois is just a friend. I mean, granted, I may have had a crush on her in the beginning…. But that was _ages_ ago, and she has no interest in _me_ -“

She raises her eyes from the mug, very slowly. Gives him a long, low _look_ that says pretty much everything.

“Oh,” Clark says, blinks, blushes a little in that way that makes him look about five years old. She waits him out patiently, holds back hysterical laughter by the skin of her teeth, “that’s… That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry,” she smiles, as kindly as she possibly can, actually reaches out to pat him briskly on the shoulder before dropping the mug in the sink and marching cheerfully away, “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt my most _super_ customer. Another refill?”

 

\--

 

She’s never had friends before, either.

She’s starting to think, in brief spurts as to not tire herself out completely, that all sorts of things are possible.

 

\--

 

Lois, to her mild surprise, keeps up her schedule of visits.

At first she’s grumpy, like she’s there under duress. She scowls at her, snaps at Conner and even manages a few severe frowns in Steph’s direction. She’ll order her coffee, fine, and will even drink it with few protests. But in the meantime she simply sits there and looks like a thundercloud, a thundercloud that’s just received bad news about its mother and almost been hit by a car to boot.

But, eventually… It begins to change.

Lois slowly starts to answer Steph’s bright chatter, backed up by a certain fierce determination in her eyes, with short answers of her own. She stops glowering at her coffee like it’s done something to personally offend her. She snaps at Conner a little less, and even manages the occasional smile when he grunts something particularly obtuse. She even stops _scowling_ so much, and rarely looks like the world has pained her even a little.

One day she comes right up to the counter, rests her elbows on the surface and silently watches her for a few minutes. Caught up in her job, all she can do is arch an eyebrow at the interruption. That is, until Lois says: “remember that time we went for a walk in the park and I ended up kicking a swan?”

She’s so surprised that she almost trips over her own feet – straightens, narrow-eyed and wondering if this is some kind of trick, to find Lois actually _grinning_ at her. So brightly that it seems a miracle that her face was ever sour.

“Of course,” she says slowly, and reaches for her favourite mug again, “how could I ever forget?”

 

\--

 

Of course she remembers the incident when Lois kicked a swan, of _course_ she can’t forget it. It’d been a sunny day in mid-February, just after Valentine’s. They’d emerged from their enforced seclusion, largely spent sitting in Lois’ apartment and kissing with chocolate-stained lips, and decided to take a meander through the park – right by the largest lake. They’d paused to admire some swans, after Lois had tugged on her arm a little and promised to make it up to her afterwards, and one of them had taken umbrage. Lois, not one to take such a thing lying down, had ended up kicking it in the chest to get it off them. The park wardens had been called, they’d had to flee through the decaying leaf mulch to get away. Lois had laughed, loud and free and defiant, with every step.

And she’d laughed too.

Anything is possible.

 

\--

 

She’s faced a lot of weird things in her life, you don’t get to be Lex’s most trusted bodyguard-cum-assistant without seeing some shit, but coming down halfway through the night to find the entire Justice League gathered around her biggest table is right up there.

“I’m pretty sure this is breaking and entering,” she comments wryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Mercy!” Superman springs to his feet, gives her a big smile – still a Kansas farmboy, down to his soul. She’s starting to think that this professional face, primarily coloured and offensively handsome, is the actual act and the endearing moron is who he wants to be all the time, “I mean, uh, Ms Graves. We were in the area, stopping-“

Batman, who somehow seems to have got both bulkier and stupider since the last time she saw him, grunts lowly.

“-Something, and it was decided that we really needed some coffee afterwards,” Superman changes direction without a beat, continues to smile at her brightly – she can’t help herself, she’s starting to regard him with ill-concealed amusement, “I know it’s out of hours, and a big intrusion, but… You couldn’t help us out?”

She considers for a second, a moment… Sighs, marches over to the counter with a smirk neatly hidden behind her fake yawn, “it’s going to cost you.”

“Our lives?” A man in red – The Flash? Sounds the kind of thing these people would come up with – squeaks with wide eyes. The woman next to him, with quite an impressive mace, clips him around the head. The man with green eyes, contacts or just overkill, on his other side sighs dramatically. The rest of the table look caught somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Just your wallets,” she says lazily, and allows her smirk to spill out – happily across her face, as smug as a cat that’s just caught a particularly fat canary, “but don’t worry, my prices are _very_ reasonable.”

 

\--

 

She has to admit, she never thought that she’d be a lackey to superheroes either-

(“You aren’t a lackey, Mercy,” Superman had insisted sincerely, as his green friend stared lovingly at his Mocha and Wonder Woman made a very valiant effort at drinking her English Breakfast with a straight face, “you’re just… A support, if even that. You’re your own woman, and you can choose to do _whatever_ you want.”)

-And she was right. Standing behind the counter, eyeing her sudden pack of metas as she counts their money, she doesn’t feel like a lackey. She feels… Respected, in a way that she never expected to about a year ago when Lex was still on top of the world and she was still beneath him.

It’s a surprise, to realize that she’d never go back. But a nice one.

 

\--

 

The next day she comes down to find that a full kitchen is being installed in the back of her coffee shop. When she asks, with minimal pinning contractors to the wall with her fists and yelling in their faces, she’s informed that there’s been a donation from Wayne Enterprises. A hefty donation, one that’ll allow her to serve various snacks with her tea selection.

“My,” Lois purrs from the doorway, already holding a cup of coffee in hand as she observes the confusion around her with a merry look in her eyes, “this is a change, I must admit. Are you _sure_ that you haven’t been methodically seducing my exs?”

She glances back, opens her mouth in preparation for a sharp retort. And then she sees Lois’ expression – openly flirtatious above her coffee, with a warm kind of invitation shining clear in her eyes – and quickly shuts it again, possibly with an audible pop.

Some things don’t need retorts, she’s starting to find.

 

\--

 

Anything is possible.

 

\--

 

She doesn’t realize that Lex has been released from prison, she’s sure as shit not going to watch the news anymore now that she doesn’t have to, until he’s standing in her shop. Wearing a suit, smiling his most charming – most condescending – smile like he expects her to fall to her knees and weep at his very presence.

“Hello, Mercy.”

She stares at him for a second, silently. Her fingers clench around her favourite mug, until she’s gone white knuckled and it’s started to creak under her grasp. She keeps her expression deliberately flat, doesn’t give him _anything_.

A brief flicker of annoyance crosses his face at that, but the smug snake smile is soon back in place yet again. He spreads his arms, sways a little – like he’s displaying himself, like a _peacock_ , “I got out of prison.”

She could fall to her knees and worship him, she could bow to him and fall back to her old servile ways, she could make a sarcastic comment but follow him anyway. Instead, she just remains silent.

“You… Weren’t there to pick me up,” the annoyance crosses his face again, lingers there for a second before he manages to shake it off and step forwards – king of the roost, head honcho here to lord it over all of humanity yet again, “but I forgive you. I see that you were obviously busy here, maintaining your cover. But have no fear, Mercy, I’m here to _save_ you from this terrible life.”

She could rage, scream, smile prettily and allow his words to wash over her. She remains silent.

“We have plans, after all. And I want _you_ -“

She _could_ -

“Didn’t you see the sign?” She could – but, fuck it, remaining silent isn’t proving that amusing anyway. She smirks, points neatly to the sign. The sight of his eyes bulging at her defiance, his obvious _rage_ at her decision to talk back to him, brings light into her life, “no supervillains allowed. I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr Luthor.”

“ _Mercy_ -“

“Oh, you’re not leaving,” she tilts her head, allows her smirk to grow – this amount of power is _intoxicating_ , better than anything she’s ever felt before, “that’s a pity, guess I’ll have to take executive measures. Steph!”

There’s a long pause.

“Uh,” comes Steph’s voice from behind the counter, where she’s been watching the entire conversation with a forensic level of interest, “technically I really am just your ordinary, average college student, you know…”

She glances over her shoulder, briefly. Gives her a _look_.

“…Coming!”

Seeing Lex Luthor, billionaire villain extraordinaire, get kicked out of her coffee shop by a 5’5 blonde in cherry red lipstick is undeniably one of the highlights of her life. The only thing better is when she tells Clark about it, and he laughs so hard that he accidentally puts his fist through a table.

 

\--

 

The best thing of all, though, is just how _powerful_ she feels.

Not in a mad way, not in a grasping way, not in a “let’s just take over the world and it’ll be fine. Yay excellent life decisions!” way. In a quiet way, a strong way, a way that makes her feel like she could move mountains and cross oceans because she’s _invincible_.

Life is just full of nice surprises. She grins at Conner so hard that he actually begs off his shift early, flees out into the alleyway with a slightly terrified backwards glance.

 

\--

 

She’s not expecting Lois to burst into the shop as she’s in the middle of closing – but, after the day she’s had, she refuses to respond with more than a polite arch of her eyebrow. Comes to a halt in the middle of the shop with her hands full of mugs and a small smile curving her lips, “can I help you?”

Lois comes to a panting halt right before her, straightens up and looks her in the eye. Her lips are pursed, her hair is messy. It occurs to her, in one startling moment, that she hasn’t seen her this angry in _months_ , “Luthor is out of prison.”

“I know,” she says carefully – and, since it seems like it may be a good idea and she’s always been a fan of good ideas, turns to gently place the mugs on the nearest table, “I’m closing. Do you need anything?”

“Luthor is out of _prison_ ,” Lois only repeats herself, waves her arms with such violence that she has to take a step back and arch her eyebrow all the higher – the only dignified reaction to be given, really, “he is _free_ , he is _pardoned_ , he is going to go back to his evil ways in a _blink_ of an _eye_!”

“Lois, I _know_ ,” she takes a page out of the repetition book – waits for the perfect moment, in between the flails, and then steps forward expertly so she can study Lois’ flushed face _properly_ , “he visited me, earlier. I got Steph to kick him out. I could’ve done it myself, of course, but it was far more amusing to watch her do it. You would not _believe_ how vicious that girl can be when riled.”

“But you don’t understand!” Lois snaps over her, brain obviously on a one way track – she waits her out patiently, hides a smile. It’s kind of adorable, really, “he’s _out_ , he’s _back_ , he’s- wait, he’s been _visiting_ you?”

“Yes,” she says patiently. And has, for perhaps the second time in her life, the unique experience of seeing the great Lois Lane absolutely _speechless_ , “he wanted me to be his assistant again, his second-in-command. He said that he had plans, and that I could be a major part of them. He practically snapped his fingers, and expected me to _jump_.”

Lois stares at her for a long moment, shocked. It takes her a while to speak again – and when she does her voice is low, thoughtful “…And you didn’t?”

“I thought I told you,” she snorts, shakes her head. She’d take offence, but… There’s a certain look in Lois’ eyes, wide and hopeful, that’s quickly becoming _far_ more interesting, “I’ve _changed_. Now, unless you want anything else-?”

There’s another long pause. She sighs, quietly to herself, begins to turn away-

“Yes,” Lois says, yanks her back around and drags her in so quickly that her head _reels_ from it, “ _you_.”

And they don’t do much talking, after that.

 

\--

 

Later, after Lois has pushed her back against the counter and she’s dragged Lois down by her hair and they’ve both lost (literally lost, those rips are _never_ going to be fixed) most of their clothing, she sprawls on her back and stares up at the ceiling. Lois is asleep on her chest, snuffling and slack jawed and with hair an absolute mess. Her coffee shop, despite everything, is peaceful around them.

And in that moment, in that long moment when anything feels possible and the world is stretching out so peaceful and warm at her fingertips-

She thinks that, man, she _really_ should’ve had somebody kick Lex out of the door long ago.

 

\--

 

When Clark walks in the door next morning, and sees Lois scribbling industriously at her counter with her hair a mess and her delicate limbs swamped in a spare shirt, he beams bright enough to rival the sun. Waits until she gives him an amused, _pleased_ , smirk before he waltzes over and takes up his usual position before the till.

“You look happy,” she allows herself to comment, sneaking a secret – warm, ever so pleased – glance at Lois as she straightens to meet him, “what’ll it be today?”

“Peppermint Infusion, please,” he orders cheerfully – and adds, as she’s tapping up the order and turning to yell at Conner: “you don’t look so bad yourself, to tell the truth. How’re you feeling this morning?”

“Oh,” she grins, and allows herself to _laugh_ \- for the first time in what feels like a century, with Clark beaming before her and Lois snorting to her side and Conner looking something close to completely terrified, “like I could take over the _world_. Will you be taking that to go?”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "AU: Coffee Shop" square on my second Trope_Bingo card. No, I have no idea how it got this big. No, Conner is not Superboy in this but wanted to appear. Yes, Steph well may be Batgirl in this... And, yes, I do have a problem with infusions. They're just so tasty!


End file.
